


Quite At My Leasure

by SleepingReader



Series: The Terry Pratchett Challenge - 31 days, 400 words a day - [7]
Category: Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Canon, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingReader/pseuds/SleepingReader
Summary: ‘If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, for heaven’s sake, let them in! I’m quite at my leisure.’ Mr. Bennet called out to the hallway in general. Then, he leaned forward and chuckled slightly into his palm.In the end, no young men came for Mary or Kitty. Mary took this knowledge with a shrug and a new piano book.Around the age of eighteen, Kitty attempted to walk the path of her younger sister and try her luck with the fresh young lads of the militia. A ball was held and Kitty danced all seven dances.She came home dreadfully disappointed. None of the men had held her eye like Wickham had held Lydia’s.A few years later Mary walked by Kitty's door and heard her sister weep. And Mary, plain, practiced but not talented, practical Mary, who had once been drawn to a man only to be ignored, walked away from her sister's room.She came back with a box that had remained in their father's study for a long time. Mary knocked and without an answer, stepped into the room.





	Quite At My Leasure

‘If any young men come for Mary or Kitty, for heaven’s sake, let them in! I’m quite at my leisure.’ Mr. Bennet called out to the hallway in general. Then, he leaned forward and chuckled slightly into his palm. Jane engaged, and now Lizzie too. Of the five of his daughters, Elizabeth’s leaving had been the one he was dreading the most. A glance outside and he spotted her very carefully linking arms with Mr. Darcy, who gazed at her as she might disappear. Like he was trying to memorize her face.   
Mr. Bennet sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair.

It was early in the morning, but with no chance of rain. He would not have permitted rain to enter the grounds today. He wanted his two eldest daughters to have sunlight in their hair in this joyful time. He smiled again at Elizabeth’s fumbling to reassure him.   
Slowly, oh so slowly, his foot rose and found a footstool. The stretch of his muscles welcomed him as he put the other up as well.   
Summer was drawing to an end, but the hot and heavy air still lounged in the cracks at Longbourn. The heat settled on the dusty corners of his study the maids could never reach, stroked the spines of his books with warm, languid fingers as if summer itself was selecting a tome. Somewhere in the distance, a fly buzzed. Somewhere nearby one of the stableboys was feeding the horse. The dry smell of hay meandered through the window, looking for a nose to settle in.   
Mr. Bennet found his eyes grow heavy. His mind, used to quick wit and quicker talking girls, slowed down.   
His head gently fell onto his chest. And for the first time in nigh on 12 years, his nap went undisturbed by wife, daughter or dog. 

In the end, no young men came for Mary or Kitty. Mary took this knowledge with a shrug and a new piano book.   
Around the age of eighteen, Kitty attempted to walk the path of her younger sister and try her luck with the fresh young lads of the militia. A ball was held and Kitty danced all seven dances.  
She came home dreadfully disappointed. None of the men had held her eye like Wickham had held Lydia’s. 

A few years later Mary walked by Kitty's door and heard her sister weep. And Mary, plain, practiced but not talented, practical Mary, who had once been drawn to a man only to be ignored, walked away from her sister's room.  
She came back with a box that had remained in their father's study for a long time. Mary knocked and without an answer, stepped into the room.

Kitty could barely speak. She lay on her bed, clutching her down pillow and weeping. Mary suspected this had something to do with the butcher's boy recent engagement to the baker's daughter.   
Mary patted Kitty's hair in what she hoped was a comforting gesture and after a while, Kitty’s sobs subdued. She looked curiously at the box Mary had fetched. Mary saw her look.   
‘I’ve brought you something.’ She said in her monotone voice. ‘I keep trying to make it myself, but I’m not good with a needle. Will you try?’ She asked her sister, sliding the box over to her across the sheets.   
Kitty opened the box and let her hands trail over the many-coloured ribbons inside it. There were scraps of felt in there, too. And the smallest pair of scissors she had ever seen.   
She slipped her hand along the edge and found a piece of paper that had obviously been read and discarded too many times. 

‘The Fine Art of Hatmaking’ 

Kitty looked at her sister, her eyes filled with questions. Mary just shrugged. 

In the years to come, Kitty would never get an explanation from her, but to you, dear reader, I will say this: In Mary’s attempt to become an accomplished young woman, she had tried to pick up as many businesses as possible.   
The piano had listened to her, its keys singing their notes under her agile fingers. She had once sneaked off to the village to seek the teachers of the masters of art, but all the lines had been vague, like every time she tried to look off into the distance. Colors were a problem, too. She preferred the friendly black and white of her piano keys.   
She never could get the hang of dancing, unable to see the paces and the speed of her partner’s feet.   
When Mister Collins had come to Longbourn, Mary had desperately tried to begin a new practice. While her sisters had been collecting ribbons for the ball, Mary had purchased a beginner’s guide to hatmaking and the necessary materials.   
The scissors had pricked her fingers, and she had never found her needle again.  
Mary had put the box in her father’s study and had forgotten all about it.   
Now, however, she saw the grief in her usually happy, dancing sister, and decided that if she couldn’t become an accomplished woman all by herself, she would just be a part of one. 

We meet Mary again, with our newfound knowledge, watching her sister.  
Kitty wordlessly unfolded the paper further and picked up the felt. She found a needle on her nightstand and started working.   
Mary went to bed with a slight smile. 

The next morning, a hat rested on the peg of the stairwell. There had been fine traces of tears upon the ribbons, and a few drops of blood on the feather nestled in its brim, but it was a fine hat, the likes of which would be seen in a few years as Meryton caught up with London fashion. 

Kitty wore her hat to the Lucas’s tea party that weekend and was immediately commissioned by Mrs. Lucas for a new one.  
Kitty Bennet spent half a day trying to think of a proper price. She asked her father, who only really bothered with the price of ink. He suggested she ask Mary instead.  
Mary was confused in the beginning, but after looking at the prices of the ribbons and materials used, she was able to calculate the exact price Kitty would need to ask for her hat.  
After all, calculations couldn’t be harder than Mr. Tchaikovski’s new overture, which required cannons.

**Author's Note:**

> Terry Pratchett Writing Challenge, day 8 & 9 
> 
> Prompt by MY DAAAD! :D


End file.
